


Good Neighbor

by serenililly



Series: A Heart's Direction [4]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Third Person, Reader-Insert, Writer Kim Namjoon | RM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 09:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenililly/pseuds/serenililly
Summary: Namjoon's solitary tendencies versus the cookies. Spoiler: The cookies win.





	Good Neighbor

Namjoon had been watching you for at least ten minutes, taking slow sips of his steaming coffee from within the comfort of his toasty, warm house. You hadn’t yet noticed him in his admittedly nosy position at the window which, given the struggle you were having, he wasn’t surprised.

By his standards, the snowfall of the previous evening was fairly mild. It was just enough to keep the kids in the neighborhood rolling in snowballs, but not enough for him to be in a hurry to shovel through it.

But that’s exactly what he had been watching you do. Given the pitifully small area of your driveway that you’d uncovered, he wanted to think you hadn’t been at it for very long. But you seemed to be struggling all the same, slipping about in the snow and ice while you grappled with the tool which was so obviously foreign to you.

He clucked his tongue to no one in particular. For one, you weren’t even dressed properly, that pathetic excuse for a windbreaker certainly couldn’t be keeping out the frosty bite of the cold. He remembered that you had moved here from a much warmer climate and wondered, did you even own a pair of gloves?

He sighed to himself, taking another draw on his mug. Content with being the neighborhood recluse, Namjoon spent most of his days cooped up in his study and forcing himself to meet his daily writing goals. It wasn’t a glamorous lifestyle, but writing paid the bills and it was what he loved to do besides.

And of course his study was where he’d been when you’d come by those few weeks ago, ringing his doorbell and grinning up at him with that far too friendly, far too pretty smile of yours.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in across the street so I’m making the rounds to get to know everyone nearby.” You chased your words with outstretched hands, offering him a plastic wrapped package covered in some sort of flowery design, a sunny, yellow ribbon of friendship tied around the top. He took the package from your hands gingerly.

Cookies. You had brought him cookies. And then you had kept him from his work for an hour afterwards, making small talk that too easily bled into more. He just found you so easy to talk to, damn it. And the way your eyes lit up when he talked about the book he was currently writing had him mirroring your smile. So rare was it for him to find someone to bounce his ideas off of that was genuinely interested in his work that, reclusive title forgotten, he somehow opened more than his door to you inside that hour.

And if he hadn’t spent the rest of that night thinking about you, he certainly spent the next day doing so after helping himself to your gift, pleasantly surprised at those delicious, cinnamon cookies that went so well with his espresso.

Another sigh passed Namjoon’s lips when he saw you pause, clasping your hands together to blow warm air between your fingertips. He supposed, rather than continue to curiously gawk at your ineptitude, he’d better repay you for the baked goods and conversation.

Namjoon shrugged on his heavy winter coat, donning his hat, gloves, and boots and tucking an extra pair of gloves under his arm before heading out.

You jumped a little when you heard the crunch on his steps in the nearby snow. And then you gave him that damn pretty smile of yours and he silently cursed himself for thinking he could withstand it.

Offering you the gloves, he proceeded to teach you his tips and tricks on how to best clean the snow from the slope of your drive. You listened like an eager student, thanking him over and over, your self-deprecating jokes about your inexperience with cold weather somehow warming his heart and tugging laughter from his lips.

And when you were done and your driveway was expertly cleared, you invited him in for more of those cookies and unexpected hours conversation so deep he wondered why he hadn’t come by sooner.

And even though he lived just across the street, he asked for your number anyway. And you gave it to him, and spent the rest of winter subjected to his late night poems, multi-paragraph long rants, and the occasional invitation to cross the road.

Though by spring he didn’t much need the number anymore since you were there more often than not, filling his house with the smell of cinnamon, a surplus of pretty smiles, and a million opened doors between you.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "That's How You Know" by Amy Adams.


End file.
